Fortunate Son
by psiChic
Summary: Five times Sam asked about Mary. Oneshot, slightly AU, spoilers for S1 and S2. Wee!chesters in parts.


A/N: Hey everyone! I haven't written in...uh...months? LOL I know I have a story unfinished at the moment- SORRY!! It's coming!! But this here is a little oneshot, written a while ago, BEFORE _A Very Supernatural Christmas_ aired, so it's a little AU I guess. Spoilers for S1 and S2.

Special thanks to PsychicWonderKitty for the beta!! hugs and cookies

Disclaimer: I don't own _Supernatural_. Or _Sesame Street_. Or _Where the Red Fern Grows_. sigh.

Enjoy!!

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_Fortunate Son_

**Age 2**

Big Bird was on the TV, asking a little girl about the two grown-ups standing next to her. One was a man like his Daddy, only not as tall and he had no guns. The other was a lady with long hair. The girl told Big Bird they were her family, her Mommy and Daddy. Sammy didn't understand the first word, his two-and-a-half-year-old brain trying to comprehend its meaning and coming up blank. Then one of those helpful songs came on, all about families. Every one of them had a Mommy, whatever that was, and a Daddy, just like Sammy's. None of them had a Dean though, and Sammy thought that was sad for them.

"Deeeean!" squealed Sammy, using his hands for balance as he stood up, toddling over to the couch to find his big brother. "Dean?"

"Hey, Sammy. Want some help?" asked Dean. He reached down and gently grabbed hold of Sammy under his arms, pulling him up onto the couch to sit next to him. Dean was so nice, just like the lady and man talking to Big Bird.

"Where Daddy?" he asked, turning his little head around expectantly, peering up over the pillows to see if he was hiding behind the couch. He wasn't.

"Workin'," answered Dean, pulling him back down off the edge. He'd been leaning over pretty far in his search for Daddy. "You want some juice?"

Sammy shook his head, attention caught again by the lady on TV. Now she was hugging the little girl, just like Dean did to him whenever he cried or got hurt or was sleepy. A thought popped into his head. "You my Mommy, Dean!"

"What?" asked his brother, and a funny look came on his face. Actually, it wasn't very funny. It kinda scared Sammy and made him sad. "No, Sammy. I'm not Mommy. I'm your brother."

Sammy shook his head energetically. "Mommy." He pointed at the lady and then at Dean. "See? Hugs and Daddy. Big Bird!" He got excited then, bouncing a little at his discovery.

The sad look didn't leave Dean's face, a fact that puzzled Sammy immensely. Why wasn't he happy about this? The little girl's Mommy was happy. "You have a Ouch, Dean?" he asked, then promptly began to inspect Dean's left knee.

"No, Sammy." answered Dean finally, scooping Sammy up as best he could into his lap. "I don't have an Ouch and I'm not Mommy. She's gone."

"Where?"

Dean didn't answer, just looked at Sammy for a real long time and then gave him a hug. Just like the lady on TV. Dean must just be pretending about not being his Mommy. Silly.

The Number of the Day song was coming on and Sammy curled up in Dean's arms to watch, happy that he had a Mommy _and_ a Dean to show Big Bird next time.

**Age 7**

Crayons were spread out over the kitchen table in a pattern only Sammy could figure out, all in their places so he could finish his homework. He felt very big and advanced indeed; first grade work was much more difficult than kindergarten work, after all. The picture he was drawing was supposed to be of his family, so he carefully drew Dean, Daddy, himself, and was debating whether or not to draw his Mommy. He had never met her, but the picture of her was always in that frame on the counter. Yellow crayon in hand, he spun around on his stool.

"Where's Mommy?" asked Sammy to his Dad. He was bent over a box of bullets or something, back turned. Dean was in their room. Dad stood up and turned around, a familiar sad look in his eyes. It reminded him of Dean for some reason.

"I don't know, Sammy," answered his father. Sammy didn't believe him. How could you lose a whole entire person? Sammy knew where all of his favorite things were. Except that stuffed bear he'd had until he was five…but he was pretty sure a ghost had taken it anyway…

"How come? Where did you last see her?"

Daddy smiled. "I see her every night in my dreams, Sammy. But she…she died when you were really little. You know that."

"So. Why can't she come back? And where did she go? Is she a ghost?" A potentially horrifying thought occurred to him. "Are you gonna hunt her?"

"No, Sammy." answered Daddy softly, turning back to the box of bullets. "And I don't know…I don't know."

"Oh."

Sammy turned back to his drawing, yellow crayon still clutched firmly in his chubby hand.

**Age 12**

Sam sat alone in the car. He had the book he was supposed to be doing a report on, but he'd been on page fourteen for about ten minutes now. Dean and Dad had gone into the forest, dragging something big and hairy. Something Dean had killed. _Dean_, not Dad.

This was big. Sam figured Dean would be going off on hunts with Dad now, leaving him alone at the apartment, motel room, whatever it was they were staying in at the time. Double the bad guys taken down, half the time Sam had with his family. Not a very good deal, seeing as the only time they all actually spent together as a family was pretty much limited to rides in this very car. On the way to a new home, a new school, a new hunt that made his Dad disappear for days at a time. And now Dean too?

"Why can't I have a Mom? I bet she wouldn't leave me…" Sam asked the empty car. That question was lost to the silence though as Sam pushed back thoughts of what he'd never have, never had. There was no sense in waiting around for that…for _her_. Normal was something he'd have to make for himself. Sam promised himself right then and there that he'd never be alone again. Dean and Dad would be back soon, and it would be his turn soon enough.

He turned back to his book and attempted to read, but _Where the Red Fern Grows_ didn't really seem all that important to him anymore...

**Age 17**

He's yelling, being yelled at. A letter clutched in his right hand, determination in his shoulders, and Dean standing off to the side, trying to calm them down.

No. This is too much. Dad's a tyrant, a fanatic. He's not going to stop Sam. Nothing will. Not Dad, not hunting, not Dean.

Dad says don't come back, Sam wouldn't dream of it. The door slams and suddenly it's cold. And dark. And he's alone. Sam starts walking to the nearest bus station. His stuff, still packed from their latest move, is now slung over his shoulder in an aging duffel.

Five minutes of walking pass before he hears footsteps behind him. Dean. Trying to make it better, telling him about Dad's stress levels, promising he didn't mean it.

Dean doesn't understand. "You think this is what Mom wanted for us?"

He doesn't answer, but walks the rest of the way at Sam's side.

**Age 24**

The knife pierced him like fire, sensation in his legs stolen, all thoughts in his head frozen as his eyes tried and tried again to refocus on his brother. Dean. He was running toward him, a slow blink and Dean was holding him, supporting the weight that only he seemed to be able to feel.

Now he was speaking, his brother to him, the words oddly echoed as a mysterious fog settled in before his eyes. Dean's voice was lost in the mist as his eyes slid closed for the final time, too heavy to be lifted again. He gave himself over, collapsed into his brother as the beat of his own heart slowed audibly, his support system breaking down, the fog thickening.

Darkness consumed him, a nothingness that lasted an eternal second.

And out of the nothing came a light, the most beautiful he had ever seen, or rather, _felt_. It moved toward him as he moved toward it. There was no fear, there was no pain. Only the lost and found, a peace not achievable in life.

If language were relevant, possible even, a single word would have issued from his lips, a question, an absolution:

_Mom?_

-FIN-


End file.
